Not What I Expected
by the fifth angel
Summary: Nancy Bobofit finds herself in a dark, strange place called the Underworld, where she strikes up a conversation with a man named Charon.


**rated t for character death & a tiny bit of not-super-bad language**

Nancy's last memory was in her white Jeep – a 17th birthday present from her parents. The slick black seats with leather that flawless stretched over the metal frame and the spotless, fresh exterior exerted Nancy's car as the envy of her high school's parking lot.

Nancy's parents had bought the car – yes, they paid for the entire thing (something she would often brag about, with an upturned nose) – because it was pretty and considered fairly safe. And it wasn't nice enough (no Rolls Royce) to seem utterly pretentious, but it was just _nice_ enough to attract the constant stares and jealousy of her peers.

There was the thing about Nancy Bobofit: her grades weren't the best, nor was she the most stylish or the prettiest kids. But her parent's deep pockets made up for all of that. Money can't buy you stylish taste, but it can buy you a new Chanel purse. Money can't buy you knowledge or true mental health, but it can buy you a few years at a school for troubled kids that'll knock you into shape. It could buy you a trip to anywhere in the –

Actually, talking about location, Nancy began to wonder. Where the hell was she? Nancy realized her eyes were closed – that was weird. She pulled them open with an odd force. Black faded, receding to the corners of her vision, to reveal a blinding brightness – the hot LA sun pouring down like liquid lava onto her skin. A large, intimidating sign for a recording studio. Nancy went to wipe the beading sweat off the top of her forehead, but she realized that there was no sweat on her forehead, nor could she feel her own hand. _What the fuck?_

Nancy felt hot – something in her chest boiled and her eyes felt heavy and she felt like the embodiment of gross humidity. Yet she couldn't feel her own skin, and her feet that felt heavy were _floating_ off of the ground. Something echoed in her head, drawing her towards the indoors. Maybe it would help with the heat she felt, and she felt a strange beckoning tugging at the tips of her fingers.

The next thing she knew, Nancy was in a waiting room. Plain, boring white walls and cheap chairs and tacky magazines stacked up on little tables. Nancy turned to one of the people in the chairs – a bald man, lazily flipping through an old (very old – a 1994 issue) of _The_ _Washington Post._

"Hey," Nancy somewhat rudely asserted herself into his attention. The man looked over, "Where the hell am I?"

The man gave a slight roll of his eyes, before turning his attention back to the paper, "You're in the Underworld."

"Oh," Nancy said, filling the silence. She tried to comprehend that. "Like, the mythological place?"

"Yeah, exactly like that," the man said.

Nancy opened her mouth to ask another question, but was cut off by the man, who was growing increasingly annoyed, "If you have so many questions, you can ask Charon," the man gave a slight nod to a shady figure in a suit.

Nancy huffed before trotting over to Charon. He was tall and tan, with blonde hair shaved military-style. He wore an expensive silk Italian suit, and his fingers gracefully moved to type across a keyboard that was wirelessly connected to a black iPad.

Nancy cleared her throat, effectively garnering the attention of this 'Charon' figure. Charon looked up from his iPad with practiced ease, giving a pointed and questioning look at Nancy.

"Where am I?" Nancy asked.

"Didn't that man already tell you?" Charon made a gesture, "I am Charon, and this is the Underworld."

Nancy raised an eyebrow. Well, she attempted to. Raising a singular eyebrow is significantly harder than the movies and cliché books made it seem. "So this place is, like, the Greek death place?"

"Yes," Charon said, accompanied by a curt nod as he turned his attention back to typing names up on his iPad.

"So I'm dead?" Nancy swallowed, and took a look down at her fingers. They did seem to be transparent. And she couldn't feel herself or the heat, really. And she felt all weird. "That explains a lot."

Charon absently nodded. Normally, Nancy would have been annoyed at someone for ignoring her, but she was kind of too busy trying to comprehend her situation.

"So, I actually died?" Nancy asked no one in particular. "So much for the Jeep being a 'safe car.'" Nancy looked around the room, "And all of these people are dead, too?"

Charon gave a soft word of acknowledgment, confirming Nancy's question.

"So that's it? I live my entire life, and it kind of sucks, and I'm waiting for my twenties where there's no school and I can finally drink – well, legally, not that that's ever really stopped me. But then I just _die?_ " Nancy faltered. "Wow, that kind of sucks. That really sucks. This is so unfair. Is there any way to get back?"

(Another thing to add to the list of what money cannot buy you: life.)

Charon – the poor man was clearly beginning to lose his patience – looked up from his work and shook his head. "No, Miss Bobofit, I'm afraid there's no going back. There's only going forward, to the true heart of the Underworld."

"And how would I do that?"

"I do it, it's a service I offer. However, it is not for free. I require a form of payment. Preferably drachmas, but no one seems to carry those around anymore," Charon gave a huff and muttered something under his breath, "USD will do just fine."

"Drachmas?"

"Coins used in Ancient Greece. They still use them today in the mythological world."

"Oh." A pregnant pause lapsed. "So, is all of mythology real? Like, how does that work?"

"Mythology is still here, as you can see all around you. Mount Olympus – the center that holds all of the gods and goddesses and buildings and whatnot – is very real, and it moves based on influence. Right now, for example, Mount Olympus is hidden above the New York skyline."

"Oh shit," Nancy's eyes widened, "I lived in New York," Nancy took another moment to process, "So I lived under Olympus for years without knowing?"

Charon gave a slight impish grin. "Sometimes the biggest things are right in front of you."

"I really should have paid more attention in Latin class."

Charon decided to change back the subject, since he really didn't have time for all this chatter, "Do you have any money with you?"

Nancy reached into the back pocket of her jeans, only to be greeted with a phone. Her Kate Spade wallet (and that was _not_ a cheap thing to lose) was _gone._ "I think it was in my car." Nancy said nervously, before pulling out her phone. "You don't happen to accept Apple Pay?"

"No, dear," Charon looked like he was trying to stifle a small laugh, "There's no service down here."

"So what happens now?"

"You can wait here, until someone has enough money to cover all of the people waiting for a ride here. Or, I suppose, you could wait a few decades until Lord Hades decides to put some WiFi down here, and you could finally use your phone for payment."

"I think my phone would be dead by then."

"That would be ironic," Charon remarked, "A phone dying in the land of the dead. I've made recommendations – we should accept Apple Pay, we should get outlets and chargers down here. Lord Hades' son even tried to tell him, too. But for some reason, my Lord seems reluctant. Unlike humans, the gods are often uneager for change and modernization."

Nancy scrunched her eyebrows up, "Hades has a son?"

"That's _Lord_ Hades, and yes, he does. Nico D–" Charon looked a little surprised as his eyes focused on three new looming shadows in the back of the room, "Oh, there he is now! They must be here on a quest." Charon gestured towards two boys and a big, slobbering dog with drool dripping from its mouth onto the floor.

The two boys – one of them had a frail stature, sunk in eyes, and looked like he came straight from a My Chemical Romance concert, while the other had broad shoulders, a tanned look, and the lopsided grin – were slowly approaching Charon and Nancy's general direction.

"That boy looks really familiar," Nancy remarked quietly, her eyes clearly on the tan one.

"Yeah," Charon breathed, "Everyone knows him. His name is Percy Jackson. Oh, look, he's got his wallet – he'll pay for your way down."

 **okay so part of the joke was going to be that percy can't have a phone because he's a demigod and it attracts monsters, so he has to carry cash, but that got cut out so ¯\\_(** **ツ** **)_/¯**

 **i know i have** _ **three (!)**_ **or so stories i promised to continue, and instead of doing that, i started this one. but, like, i promise i'm getting my life together. anyway let me know if this is a mess or not because i might continue it. who even knows honestly?**


End file.
